From
William Harvey, Student at the Juilliard School of Music in New York City –
with his kind permission.

Yesterday I had
probably the most incredible and moving experience of my life. Juilliard
organized a quartet to go play at the Armory. The Armory is a huge military
building where families of people missing from Tuesday's disaster go to wait
for news of their loved ones. Entering the building was very difficult
emotionally, because the entire building (the size of a city block) was covered
with missing posters. Thousands of posters, spread out up to eight feet above
the ground, each featuring a different, smiling, face.

I made my way into
the huge central room and found my Juilliard buddies. For two hours we
sightread quartets (with only three people!), and I don't think I will soon
forget the grief counselor from the Connecticut State Police who listened the
entire time, or the woman who listened only to "Memory" from Cats,
crying the whole time. At 7, the other two players had to leave; they had been
playing at the Armory since 1 and simply couldn't play any more. I volunteered
to stay and play solo, since I had just got there.

I soon realized
that the evening had just begun for me: a man in fatigues who introduced
himself as Sergeant Major asked me if I'd mind playing for his soldiers as they
came back from digging through the rubble at Ground Zero. Masseuses had
volunteered to give his men massages, he said, and he didn't think anything
would be more soothing than getting a massage and listening to violin music at
the same time.

So at 9:00 p.m., I
headed up to the second floor as the first men were arriving. From then until
11:30, I played everything I could do for memory: Bach B Minor Partita, Tchaik.
Concerto, Dvorak Concerto, Paganini Caprices 1 and 17, Vivaldi Winter and
Spring, Theme from Schindler's List, Tchaik. Melodie, Meditation from Thais,
Amazing Grace, My Country
'Tis of Thee, Turkey in the Straw, Bile Them Cabbages Down. Never have I
played for a more grateful audience. Somehow it didn't matter that by the end,
my intonation was shot and I had no bow control. I would have lost any
competition I was playing in, but it didn't matter. The men would come up the stairs
in full gear, remove their helmets, look at me, and smile.

At 11:20, I was
introduced to Col. Slack, head of the division. After thanking me, he said to
his friends, "Boy, today was the toughest day yet. I made the
mistake of going back into the pit, and I'll never do that again." Eager
to hear a first-hand account, I asked, "What did you see?" He
stopped, swallowed hard, and said, "What you'd expect to see."

The Colonel stood
there as I played a lengthy rendition of Amazing Grace which he claimed was the
best he'd ever heard. By this time it was 11:30, and I didn't think I could
play anymore. I asked Sergeant Major if it would be appropriate if I played the
National Anthem. He shouted above the chaos of the milling soldiers to call
them to attention, and I played the National Anthem as the 300 men of the 69th
Division saluted an invisible flag.

After shaking a
few hands and packing up, I was prepared to leave when one of the privates came
to me and told me the Colonel wanted to see me again. He took me down to the
War Room, but we couldn't find the Colonel, so he gave me a tour of the War
Room. It turns out that the division I played for is the Famous Fighting
Sixty-Ninth, the most decorated division in the U.S. Army. He pointed out a
letter from Abraham Lincoln offering his condolences after the Battle of
Antietam...the 69th suffered the most casualties of any division at that
historic battle. Finally, we located the Colonel. After thanking me again, he
presented me with the coin of the regiment. "We only give these to someone
who's done something special for the 69th," he informed me. He called over
the division's historian to tell me the significance of
all the symbols on the coin.

As I rode the taxi
back to Juilliard...free, of course, since taxi service is free in New York
right now...I was numb. Not only was this evening the proudest I've ever felt
to be an American, it was my most meaningful as a musician and a person as
well. At Juilliard, kids are hypercritical of each other and very competitive.
The teachers expect, and in most cases get, technical perfection. But this
wasn't about that.The soldiers didn't
care that I had so many memory slips I lost count. They didn't care that when I
forgot how the second movement of the Tchaik. went. I've never seen a more
appreciative audience, and I've never understood so fully what it means to
communicate music to other people.

And how did it
change me as a person? Let's just say that, next time I want to get into a
petty argument about whether Richter or Horowitz was better, I'll remember that
when I asked the Colonel to describe the pit formed by the tumbling of the
Towers, he couldn't. Words only go so far, and even music can only go a little
further from there.

William Harvey

DELTA 15

We were about 5 hours
out of Frankfurt flying over the North Atlantic and I was in my crew rest seat
taking my scheduled rest break.All of
a sudden the curtains parted violently and I was told to go to the cockpit,
“right now”, to see the captain.As
soon as I got there I noticed that the crew had one of those "All
Business" looks on their faces.The captain handed me a printed message.I quickly read the message and realized the importance of
it.The message was from Atlanta,
addressed to our flight, and simply said, "All airways over the
Continental US are closed.Land ASAP at
the nearest airport, advise your destination. "Now, when a dispatcher
tells you to land immediately without suggesting which airport, one can assume
that the dispatcher has reluctantly given up control of the flight to the
captain.

We knew it was a
serious situation and we needed to find terra firma quickly.It was quickly decided that the nearest
airport was 400 miles away, behind our right shoulder, in Gander, on the island
of Newfoundland. A quick request was made to the Canadian traffic controller
and a right turn, directly to Gander, was approved immediately.We found out later why there was no
hesitation by the Canadian controller approving our request. We, the in-flight
crew, were told to get the airplane ready for an immediate landing.While this was going on another message
arrived from Atlanta telling us about some terrorist activity in the New York
area.We briefed the in-flight crew
about going to Gander and we went about our business 'closing down' the
airplane for a landing.

A few minutes later I
went back to the cockpit to find out that some airplanes had been hijacked and
were being flown into buildings all over the US.We decided to make an announcement and LIE to the passengers for
the time being.We told them that an
instrument problem had arisen on the airplane and that we needed to land at
Gander, to have it checked.We promised
to give more information after landing in Gander.There were many unhappy passengers but that is par for the
course.

We landed in Gander
about 40 minutes after the start of this episode. There were already about 20
other airplanes on the ground from all over the world. After we parked on the
ramp the captain made the following announcement: "Ladies and gentlemen,
you must be wondering if all these airplanes around us have the same instrument
problem as we have.But the reality is
that we are here for a good reason."Then he went on to explain the little bit we knew about the situation in
the US.There were loud gasps and
stares of disbelief.Local time at
Gander was 12:30 pm.(11:00 AM EST)
Gander control told us to stay put.No
one was allowed to get off the aircraft. No one on the ground was allowed to
come near the aircrafts.Only a car
from the airport police would come around once in a while, look us over and go
on to the next airplane.In the next
hour or so all the airways over the North Atlantic were vacated and Gander
alone ended up with 53 airplanes from all over the world, out of which 27 were
flying US flags.We were told that each
and every plane was to be offloaded, one at a time, with the foreign carriers
given the priority.We were No.14 in
the US category.We were further told
that we would be given a tentative time to deplane at 6 pm.

Meanwhile bits of
news started to come in over the aircraft radio and for the first time we
learned that airplanes were flown into the World Trade Center in New York and
into the Pentagon in DC. People were trying to use their cell phones but were
unable to connect due to a different cell system in Canada.Some did get through but were only able to
get to the Canadian operator who would tell them that the lines to the US were
either blocked or jammed and to try again.Some time late in the evening the news filtered to us that the World
Trade Center buildings had collapsed and that a fourth hijacking had resulted
in a crash.

Now the passengers
were totally bewildered and emotionally exhausted but stayed calm as we kept
reminding them to look around to see that we were not the only ones in this
predicament.There were 52 other planes
with people on them in the same situation.We also told them that the Canadian Government was in charge and we were
at their mercy. True to their word, at 6 PM, Gander airport told us that our
turn to deplane would come at 11 AM, the next morning.That took the last wind out of the
passengers and they simply resigned and accepted this news without much noise
and really started to get into a mode of spending the night on the
airplane.Gander had promised us any
and all medical attention if needed; medicine, water, and lavatory
servicing.And they were true to their
word. Fortunately we had no medical situation during the night.We did have a young lady who was 33 weeks
into her pregnancy.We took REALLY good
care of her.

The night passed
without any further complications on our airplane despite the uncomfortable
sleeping arrangements.

About 10:30 on the
morning of the 12th we were told to get ready to leave the aircraft.A convoy of school buses showed up at the
side of the airplane, the stairway was hooked up and the passengers were taken
to the terminal for "processing". We, the crew, were taken to the
same terminal but were told to go to a different section, where we were
processed through Immigration and customs and then had to register with the Red
Cross.After that we were isolated from
our passengers and were taken in a caravan of vans to a very small hotel in the
town of Gander.We had no idea where
our passengers were going.The town of
Gander has a population of 10,400 people.Red Cross told us that they were going to process about 10,500
passengers from all the airplanes that were forced into Gander.We were told to just relax at the hotel and
wait for a call to go back to the airport, but not to expect that call for a
while.

We found out the
total scope of the terror back home only after getting to our hotel and turning
on the TV, 24 hours after it all started.Meanwhile we enjoyed ourselves going around town discovering things and
enjoying the hospitality.The people
were so friendly and they just knew that we were the "Plane
people".We all had a great time
until we got that call, 2 days later, on the 14th at 7AM. We made it to the airport by 8:30AM and left
for Atlanta at 12:30 PM arriving in Atlanta at about 4:30PM.(Gander is 1 hour and 30 minutes ahead of
EST, yes!, 1 hour and 30 minutes.) But that's not what I wanted to tell you.

What passengers told
us was so uplifting and incredible and the timing couldn't have been
better.We found out that Gander and
the surrounding small communities, within a 75 Kilometer radius, had closed all
the high schools, meeting halls, lodges, and any other large gathering places.They converted all these facilities to a
mass lodging area.Some had cots setup,
some had mats with sleeping bags and pillows set up.ALL the high school students HAD to volunteer taking care of the
"GUESTS".Our 218 passengers
ended up in a town called Lewisporte, about 45 Kilometers from Gander.There they were put in a high school.If any women wanted to be in a women only
facility, that was arranged.Families
were kept together.All the elderly
passengers were given no choice and were taken to private homes. Remember that
young pregnant lady, she was put up in a private home right across the street
from a 24 hour Urgent Care type facility.There were DDS on call and they had both male and female nurses
available and stayed with the crowd for the duration.Phone calls and emails to US and Europe were available for every
one once a day.

During the days the
passengers were given a choice of "Excursion" trips.Some people went on boat cruises of the
lakes and harbors.Some went to see the
local forests.Local bakeries stayed
open to make fresh bread for the guests.Food was prepared by all the residents and brought to the school for
those who elected to stay put. Others were driven to the eatery of their choice
and fed.They were given tokens to go
to the local Laundromat to wash their clothes, since their luggage was still on
the aircraft.In other words every
single need was met for those unfortunate travelers. Passengers were crying
while telling us these stories.After
all that, they were delivered to the airport right on time and without a single
one missing or late.All because the
local Red Cross had all the information about the goings on back at Gander and
knew which group needed to leave for the airport at what time.Absolutely incredible.

When passengers came
onboard, it was like they had been on a cruise.Everybody knew everybody else by their name.They were swapping stories of their stay,
impressing each other with who had the better time.Our flight back to Atlanta looked like a party flight.We simply stayed out of their way.The passengers had totally bonded and they
were calling each other by their first names, exchanging phone numbers,
addresses, and email addresses.And
then a strange thing happened.

One of our business
class passengers approached me and asked if he could speak over the PA to his
fellow passengers.We never, never,
allow that.But something told me to
get out of his way.I said "of
course".The gentleman picked up
the PA and reminded everyone about what they had just gone through in the last
few days.He reminded them of the
hospitality they had received at the hands of total strangers.He further stated that he would like to do
something in return for the good folks of the town of Lewisporte.He said he was going to set up a Trust Fund
under the name of DELTA 15 (our flight number).The purpose of the trust fund is to provide a scholarship for
high school student(s) of Lewisporte to help them go to college.He asked for donations of any amount from
his fellow travelers.

When the paper with
donations got back to us with the amounts, names, phone numbers and addresses,
it totaled to $14.5K or about $20K Canadian.The gentleman who started all this turned out to be an MD from Virginia.He promised to match the donations and to
start the administrative work on the scholarship.He also said that he would forward this proposal to Delta
Corporate and ask them to donate as well.

Why, all of
this?Just because some people in a
faraway place were kind to some strangers, who happened to literally drop in
among them?WHY NOT?

Nazim

Nazim-Amin is a Delta
airline crew member.

This letter was sent in
by a friend and its authenticity could not been verified. Ed.

Twin
Escapes

So many people
have called and written and want to know what happened,
especially since both Joan & I were in different towers. I thought it was
easier to write it down and send it around than tell it over and over.
It seems to be getting away from me though so I'll have to finish it
later. Our story is below:

How can I not
believe in miracles when both Joan & I walked out of two different
towers of the World Trade Center unhurt? How can I not believe in love
when I see the outpouring of it from the friends and family who have
been calling and e-mailing us since the attack? Rather than seeing
the world as an uglier place after the attack, I see it as a
beautiful place where people give all they can when called upon to do
so.

I will never
forget the police and firemen who walked past me to save lives in the
building and never walked out. Who went in knowing that the chances were
good they would never walk out. I will never forget the people I
worked with and Joan worked with who were not as lucky as us. As the
stories come out of those who did not make it, you realize how every
second made such a difference; how one wrong decision could be
fatal.

Joan worked on the
91st floor of the South Tower; while I worked on the 72nd floor of
the north tower. We usually get into work late(about 9am), but
Joan had been pushing me to get out the door earlier and I was quite
proud of myself that Tuesday when I succeeded. So as luck would have
it, we got in the building at 8:30, 15 minutes before the 1st plane hit
the building.

Going up in the
elevator I decided that I would take my laptop and work on the 65th
floor that day, where I had been been helping another Port
Authority department. Normally, I get caught up in a discussion and it
takes me quite a while to get off 72; but not that Tuesday. I made it
down to 65 just 5 minutes before the plane hit. That spontaneous
decision got me 7 floors further away from the impact point and
that much closer to the ground. Thank God all the people I work with
on 72 also made it out, so I probably would have survived either
way.

When the first
plane hit the North Tower on about the 90th floor it was nowhere near
as dramatic as you would think on the 65th floor, just 25 floors
down. There was a definite explosion but it did not sound that bad. There was a big
flash of light. The really scary part was how much the building
moved, and kept moving, for a long time before restabilizing. At
the same time we saw out the window that flaming pieces of the
building were flying past the window. People on the floor were a
little confused, should we stay there or start to evacuate. The
Floor Wardens with their red hats had not yet mobilized to give us
instructions. They probably would have suggested we stay in the hall and
wait for an announcement. My survivor instinct kicked in. I screamed out
at the top of my considerable lungs that people should get to the
stairs and then I did so. We all filed down
the stairs quite calmly. We also moved very fast, because we were
not slowed up by other floors coming in until we had gotten down 30
floors or more. Some people were crying, some people were tired and not
in that good a shape, but we all helped the weaker. There were several times
that 2 landings ahead of me were empty because I was helping a heavy woman
named Michele who was having trouble with her knees. No one pushed past, no one
yelled at us. Many people in the stairs with me had
been in the last bombing, and they kept telling us this was much
better than that time. The lights were on, the smoke was not so bad,
the bomb was above, not below us - of course we were going to make it
out. It wasn't until all the traffic on the stairs stopped that
people got panicky and started to yell, but then a stop & go pattern
developed and we were calm again.

It was on the
stairs that I started to worry a little about Joan in the other tower.
We started to hear that a plane had hit the building, and I
wondered if it might not bounce into the other tower. I kept trying my
cell phone but it wouldn't work- no surprise. I put the thought of her
being hurt out of my mind because it was only causing me
trouble. We kept walking down the stairs. The smoke was acrid, for a brief
moment I thought we may get poisoned, that perhaps we were not yet
safe, but that passed quickly too. Of course we were safe, we were near
the ground (just 20 or so flights to go).

We saw the first
rescue worker coming up our stairway on the 17th floor. I remember
that because one woman said that last time she first saw them on
the 18th floor. Their coming up slowed us down a little more, but
we had all the time in the world... When we were
almost all the way down we came upon a floor that had water pouring out
from under the door. This caused a waterfall all the rest of the way
down, there were several inches of water on the floor, but it was
passable and did not slow us up much.

We came out on the
mezzanine level, which is the ground floor street level on the front
of the building. In all it took us about an hourto get down the
stairs. There was probably less than a half hour before the south
tower would collapse. The plaza was filled with burning debris,
but it did not look very bad. The lower level windows to West St were
completely blown out, but nothing looked bad out in the street.

It was then;
however, that the seriousness of the situation became apparent. The
police had panic in their voice. They yelled at us with a real sense of
urgency to move . You very quickly realized you were not safe yet. I
ran to the first officer I saw and asked how 2 world trade was because
my wife worked there on the 91st floor. I saw his face and
everything went out of me at once; I could barely speak and I squeaked
"don't tell me, please, I don't want to know right now". I said how could both
towers be bad and he told me that a plane had hit each building. I
knew instantly that it was a terrorist attack. He asked to use my
cell phone and tried to call someone but it didn't work so he gave it
back. He then looked at me strangely and said "look at my
name badge, my name is Morse. If I don't make it out alive get in touch
with my family, let them know how I died, and that I loved
them". I promised I would and ran down the escalator- dead inside because
Joan could be dead, and scared because the whole building could
fall any minute if that officer was so worried.

At the lower level
they routed us through the basement mall. It was a surreal scene. It
was completely empty except for a few rescue workers, the
lights were out, the sprinklers were all going off and the floor was
flooded. I looked to the right, toward the south tower, and did not see a
single person moving. There was nothing to do but get out and get to
a phone, call Joan's parents and see if she had called in. I was
not accepting her death until it was real. To think of it crippled me,
made my heart race, my breathing rapid, and my head clouded. I
had to stop thinking, I had to get out first and then find her later.

We ran down the
corridor past the PATH train, the same way I left work every day. I
saw the doors on the North side of the tower and the street there
looked fine, but they were making us go a different way. That door was
closer, but I decided to trust the police and so I went up the
escalator and out the door by where the Borders bookstore was, the Northeast
corner of the complex. When we got
outside they yelled for us to run, some stuff was on the ground and I
realized that I could still be killed by falling debris. They kept yelling
"don't look up" so I waited until I got across Church Street next
to the Millennium hotel before I turned around to see the fate of
the South Tower where Joan worked. That was when I lost all hope; the
second plane had hit the building BELOW Joan's floor. The flames
were leaping upward. She was in a towering inferno in the worst
possible place, trapped above the flames.

I will write the
rest of my story, and Joan's story later. I have to get to work.